Felix
Jenny was studying at university and, like most students, took on part-time work—mostly night shifts. Her mum couldn’t support her financially, and living on just her student loan in a big city was impossible.
After her summer exams, she took a break and spent three weeks visiting her mum. She returned well-rested, her bag stuffed with homegrown vegetables and jars of jam carefully packed by her mother.
Jenny stepped off the bus at the station square. After the long journey, her bag felt twice as heavy. She dragged herself to the bus stop and set it down on a bench with relief.
Coming back to the city felt freeing. She loved her mum, but after two years of living alone, she’d grown used to independence. She missed the buzz of the city, her friends. Once she started working, she could finally afford a tiny flat and move out of student halls.
The flat was small, tucked away in the suburbs, but the rent was manageable. The windows overlooked an overgrown wasteland, bordered by woods. At night, not a single light shone in the distance, but mornings bathed the flat in sunlight. In winter, the snow covering the wasteland made everything glow, even at night.
A quiet whimper caught her attention. Peering under the bench, she spotted a sharp brown muzzle. Big, pleading eyes stared back, filled with fear. Only then did she notice the lead tying the dog to the bench. Crouching down, Jenny reached out, but the dachshund shrank further back, trembling.
“Don’t be scared. Come here.” She gently tugged the lead.
Reluctantly, the dog crept out, ready to bolt back under at any moment. But Jenny held firm.
The dachshund panted heavily, tongue lolling. It was an unusually hot August day—no wonder the dog had sought shade. Jenny guessed it was thirsty. Nearby, a kiosk sold drinks and snacks.
“Be right back,” she whispered before heading over.
“Just a small bottle of water, please,” she asked the unsmiling shopkeeper. “Do you have an empty tin by any chance?”
“Wouldn’t a paper cup do?” the woman smirked.
“No, a dog can’t drink from that. There’s a dachshund tied to the bench. Any idea how long it’s been there?”
The woman squinted towards the bench and sighed.
“People can be cruel. I opened the shop at eight, saw a bloke in a nice car let the dog out, tie it up, and drive off. Never came back. Abandoned it, most likely. Here—it’s not clean, though.” She passed Jenny a sardine tin through the window.
After paying double the usual price for the water, Jenny rinsed the tin, filled it, and set it down. The dachshund, having retreated under the bench again, whined before cautiously lapping it up.
“What am I going to do with you? Strays might hurt you at night. Or, God forbid, something worse.” She shuddered. “You’re coming with me. No choice.”
She left her number at the kiosk just in case the owner turned up, untied the lead, and half-carried the reluctant dog onto the bus. Paying for two, she settled the dachshund on her lap, relieved when it stayed quiet.
At home, the dog cowered in the corner of the hall, sniffing the unfamiliar air. Jenny arranged a blanket into a bed. The dachshund curled up instantly, watching her with those big, dark eyes.
“What should I call you?” She listed names until the dog barked at “Felix.”
“Felix it is.” Another bark. “You actually understand?”
That night, she listened to the click of claws on laminate as Felix explored. The slightest movement sent him darting back to the hall, but within days, he greeted her eagerly when she returned home.
The yard outside was crammed with cars, so their walks were on the wasteland. Once away from roads, she let him off the lead, terrified he’d run—but he always came back when called. She marveled at how his short legs dashed through the tall grass.
September arrived, dry and warm, and with it, lectures. Jenny’s night shifts resumed, leaving Felix alone for hours. He greeted her with wild excitement—and she couldn’t imagine life without him.
One Sunday, as they wandered the wasteland, Felix suddenly bolted towards the woods. Jenny chased, yelling, but the grass tangled around her ankles.
“Felix! Home!” Silence.
She ran towards barking that abruptly cut off. Through the trees, she spotted teenagers crouching. As she approached, they jumped up—revealing Felix pinned to the ground by a thick, sharpened stick. Blood pooled beneath him.
Before she could react, the tallest boy yanked the stick out. Felix yelped, blood gushing. The boy stepped towards Jenny, weapon in hand. His eyes were dead, empty.
She turned and fled, the grass clawing at her. The teens gave chase, their breath loud behind her. A heavy impact between her shoulder blades sent her sprawling. She braced for more—but nothing came. They’d vanished.
A silver car stopped beside her. A man helped her up. Each breath sent pain through her back.
“Who attacked you?” he demanded.
“Teenagers… they killed Felix.”
“Your boyfriend?”
“My dog. Please—we have to get him. He’ll bleed out.”
Relieved it wasn’t a person, the man flagged down another driver. They returned with a blood-soaked jumper cradling Felix.
He died before they reached the vet.
Jenny couldn’t bring herself to move his bed or bowl. Nights were punctuated by imagined clicks of claws. Coming home, she’d pause, waiting for his happy whines—but the flat stayed silent.
Autumn rains set in. One evening, leaving a shop, she collided with a teenager—recognizing those cold, grey eyes instantly. He spun and bolted—straight into the path of a speeding SUV.
The driver swore innocence. “He ran right at me!”
A policeman arrived—the same man who’d brought Felix back. “You again?”
She pointed to the lifeless boy. “Him. He’s the one.”
Two weeks later, a doorbell woke her. A man stood there, holding a square bag.
“Sorry to wake you. I’ve got no one to look after her.”
Jenny took the bag—and felt movement inside. Unzipping it, she found a trembling dachshund pup.
“I thought a boy might remind you of Felix, so I got a girl. Her name’s Fiona.”
Jenny lifted her out, cradling her close. Fiona licked her chin, and she laughed—softly, happily.
“You kept it.” The man nodded at Felix’s bed.
“Couldn’t bear to.”
“Yaroslav,” he introduced himself.
Fiona was nothing like Felix—stubborn, mischievous, shoe-chewing. She slept in Jenny’s bed, refusing the hall. Walks were always on the lead.
Some weekends, Yaroslav drove them to parks. Fiona buried her nose in leaves or raced around, ears flapping, infecting them all with joy. They chased each other, laughing under the grey autumn sky.
